Lady in Red
by Yiramy
Summary: One came for the music, the other for the company. Or did they seek for one and the same thing? Netherlands and Norway, plus a cameo of England. One-shot.


This was a silly challenge between Andrea(smoking-tullips) and me. xD

We had a word, a song and a colour... namely the colour red, the word addiction and the song was "everybody needs somebody to love." (From the Blues Brothers! If you don't know the song, shame on you. xDDD)

And here you have mine!

xXx

In the middle of Germany, they met. Nothing special, you would say. After all, what was so exciting about Frankfurt? Yes, it was an important place of Germany, a nice big city, too and there was a lot to see. However, they didn't meet each other in a park, in a restaurant, in a hotel or cinema or even a wellness center. There was this little café located just outside of the shopping center fo Frankfurt, a café no one but initiates paid attention to. It didn't look much; there was no sign and most people thought it was just a house someone lived in. It only made it better. A tall person, clothed in a long grey coat - obviously specially made, as the coat almost reached his knee - dressing pants and shoes, and a hat casually walked into the street and glanced at the houses around him. Then he walked over to a little house and rang the doorbell, curtly, two times. It was not until two whole minutes later when someone opened the door and they exchanged a few words. Eventually the man was let in.

The man who opened the door smiled and told the visitor to take the door second to the right. The other thanked him and did as he was told. He entered a room that looked like an replica of the Chicago film set. There was a podium reserved for musicians and eventual singers and dancers, there were several standtables, a little bar and quite a few dining tables, complete with lit candles and roses. The chairs' coating were made of velvet and judging the curtains at the walls, they were velvety and heavy as well. Being led to a dining table to the right side of the podium, but still fairly close to the door, he shrugged off his coat and hung it over his chair. This truly was a special place. It was as if he'd stepped back into 1930. He knew it was popular by quite a few Frankfurters - and other Germans! - to marry in this room, or have a special party. Sometimes, they gave jazz concerts as well, something he had only attended once. He ocassionally played double bass, but only a few knew. He didn't really have a knack for making music - definitely less than Austria or Norway, to name a few - but a bass was something he could handle. People had told him once there wasn't much melody in a cello or bass; he'd objected. There were a lot of songs in which the bass was more than just two or three tones. The bass was the base; the whole song was built on the bass. Maybe the modern crap musicwriters didn't understand the importance of melody in the bass, but the blues and jazz musicians certainly knew how to rock with it. Ordering some gin, he looked at the empty stage. He had been sure of it that a couple of musicians were going to perform today, but so far there was nothing but the stereo playing a few songs of Ray Charles. His gin was brought. His hat was lifted and beign placed on the table. Frowning, he looked up and stared into an all too familiar face.

"You know that it's quite rude to wear a hat inside, William," the one who brought his gin said.

"Since when are you serving the drinks here, Arthur?" he answered. "Or is this one of your tricks to do business with me? Because in that case, it's my day off and I've come here to enjoy the music, not enjoying your sign under some papers."

The Englishman acted offended. "Of course not! I've come here for the exact reasons as you." Taking uninvitedly the place next to Willem - apparently he'd brought himself some wine, too - he looked at the stage. There still was nothing to see, but a few men were busy with removing some of the big plants. So he was right after all; they got their music live tonight.

"I thought you didn't like jazz."

"I thought you only listened to stupid carnival songs," was Arthur's snappy response.

They both went silent and drank their drinks. After a while, Arthur excused himself - it was clear to the Dutchman he had been waiting for someone else. He didn't bother to look who it was; it wasn't his business what other nations did in their private time and to be honest, he didn't really care about it, either. So what if he'd brought a human girl, or one of the other nations? The musicians finally appeared on the stage; his face lit up when a woman in a dress was among them; he quite liked jazz, but it was so much better when someone sang it. Willem caught himself staring at her dress; it was dark red, with a hint of purple. It was strapless, tight to her breasts and waist, but widened at the hips into a sea of red silk around the lady's legs. The woman herself wasn't quite bad to look at, either. She had one of those classic faces, short, thick black hair tied back with a rose - red - attached to it, and eyes darker than coffee.

"Liking the view?"

Willem turned around, half and half expecting to see the English nation, but surprisingly enough that wasn't the case. "What are you doing here?"

The other smirked. "Dressed like a gentleman, but not acting like one. Suits you." He'd brought two glasses of champaign and put one on the table, in front of the Dutch country. Then he took the same chair Arthur had claimed half an hour ago and studied his alcoholic drink. "To answer your question... I'm here for her." He pointed at the dark-skinned lady in the red dress.

"You fell in love with her?" Willem asked, voice being a mixture of disbelieve and sarcasm.

The other rolled his eyes. "Of course not, you idiot.. but she's Norwegian. And I like her voice." Taking a sip of his champaign, he stared disapprovingly at the already half-empty glass. "I could use something a lot stronger than this. Cheap shit."

Glancing at the woman at the stage, Willem tasted the champaign as well. There was nothing wrong with it. "This is the one you sent to Eurovision? With your wannabe Spanish song?"

"No. Stop asking stupid questions."

"You were the one joining me."

"You looked pitiful, being there all alone."

Oh, now Erik took pity on him? Great. All he wanted was a nice evening out, listening to some nice jazz. Why did people always assume things? It was true, he couldn't help but look at the gracious looking lady, who was now tuning her microphone. She just was different than the average female human down there in the streets. She had this certain air around her, that made her more gracious and beautiful than every single woman in this room (sure, there weren't many, but still). She just was really beautiful. The Dutch got nudged by Erik. Sending a glare at the man, he tried to look away from her and instead fumbled with a cigarette instead. He heard the man next to him sighing deeply.

"Can't you leave the smelling nicotinesticks in your pocket for once?"

"No," was Willem's simple answer. The shorter blonde sighed once again and ordered some vodka.

"You smoke too much," the Norwegian told him softly while he emptied quite a big glass in just a few gulps. The lady in red told them they were getting ready and about to start in a minute. Both nations reduced their voices to a soft whisper.

"You drink too much. Thanks for the advice."

"You're addicted to anything nicotine, and even more than that."

"For your information, tolerating drugs is not the same as using it. And you're an alcoholic and have dark circles around your eyes because you drink too much coffee."

"You're just denying your addiction."

"Wait a minute, it's yóu who's deny - "

"Quiet, kid. She's going to sing."

Quite pissed off, Willem finished his champaign and looked at the stage. Normally, he would've objected to being called kid. Sure, technically he was younger than Norway, but he wasn't one of the youngest countries out there - technically, he was in the middle, maybe even one of the older nations - and he didn't exactly look like a child, nor did he act like one. It wasn't him who started the argument. But this was no place or time to argue about stupid little issues. Glancing aside, he spotted Arthur, indeed with an elder looking woman. Around in her fifties. Was she a celebrity or what? He didn't really care for the answer, but a vague laugh appeared on his lips when he noticed England was staring at the lady in red as well, much to his partner's dismay.

There maybe was one thing more beautiful in this room than the lady in red. Her voice. Erik had obsessively been staring at her, but now that she had started to sing, he had closed his eyes, being in complete relaxation. It wasn't until much later when Willem was caught too, in her soft tones and her.. yes, jazzy voice. About an our later she stopped and thanked the audience. Everyone clapped; not a single one didn't show their respect for the musicians and the lady and the band even got a standing ovation. The Dutchman wished he could turn back time; her voice had captivated everyone and it was just so beautiful. He looked around and saw no one sitting alone. People had found each other, sitting together, enjoying the music and company. After all, everybody needed somebody to love. Even a simple gesture could lighten someone's burden. He smiled a little. He was definitely going to buy a CD.


End file.
